Barehanded
by Curleyswife3
Summary: Want to know the truth about the death of Aiden Burn? And to see a Mac Taylor as you've ever seen? Thanks to everyone read it.


P

**_Barehanded_**

PART ONE

Mac Taylor got out and, before going to his apartment, he paused a moment to look out the window that gave light to the stairs of the palace, the sun might be set for an hour or less at west, behind the skyscrapers that occupied much of the landscape, in the sky unusually clear the last flashes were switching off gradually of that torrid day. It was the hour when the city that never sleeps, hugged in the grip of an early spring and hot, finally began again to breathe, preparing to enjoy the night.  
The time that Mac Taylor preferred.  
The one, when of course he did the night shift or he didn't have to hold in office because of some particularly complex cases, he came home from the most important person in his life, his wife Claire.  
With her he could finally shed the role of Lieutenant from the lab, an ex-Marine, by impenetrable gaze and by expression always severe, to again become a man like all others, in the evening, tired after a day's work, he returned at home. He Could relax thinking of something else, like telling her how were proceeding the investigations that was committed him and the inevitable problems that haunted him, or just remain silent, however, certain that she would have understood and accepted.  
Oh yes, that was the time that he preferred.  
it's the moment of the day awaited with more anxiety.  
Mac Taylor looked once more over the dusty glasses, with a slight smile on his face, put the key in the lock, turned it and opened the door.  
they welcomed him in silence, an apartment neat, clean, bourgeois, and on the table, in a shiny crystal vase, a bouquet of white peonies (Claire's favorite flowers, that he had taken a couple of days before) that, exhausted from intense heat, exhaled in exhausted air their vegetal scents.  
"Darling? I'm back! "Said the detective, in a cheerful voice.  
He slipped the bunch of keys in a silver cup placed on the shelf next to the door and their ping crossed for a moment the house silent, filling the space until this moment inanimate.  
"Claire?" he called, pulling his gun from its holster and closing it carefully in a drawer of the sideboard.  
"Oh, hello darling," exclaimed at the end, while he removed his jacket and arranged on the back of the chair next to the dining table "I'm glad to be at home! You have no idea that there is a strange coincidence happened today ... ".  
"What's for dinner?" He asked, dropping his badge (that immediately put in the drawer next to the weapon of service) from the belt and going to the bathroom to wash his hands.

Mac Taylor was seated at a laid table with great care: on the starched tablecloth stood out a fine display a bottle of white wine immersed in its own ice bucket and a composition of multi-colored fruit. The wavering light of two candles drew strange shadows on the walls, shining fleeting flashes on facets of crystal glasses and silver cutlery.  
"You don't need to apologize, darling," the policeman said, wiping his mouth and then putting his napkin beside his plate, "I do not care if you were not able to make dinner, it doesn't matter, I know you've had a busy day."  
He leaned his back against the chair and smiled.  
"You know, like I said before, think that today we have started to investigate a very strange case: the victim, a businessman who was about forty, was murdered with a gunshot to the face. The bullet is stuck in the right eye and, while we were there for the hills, came a woman claiming to be the wife of the dead ... ".  
He paused, took a sip of wine and then resumed.  
"So far, nothing strange, but then after a few minutes, another girl turns up, younger, who also said she was married to the victim! And think not only both knew each other, but they even consoled each other. "  
The slight laughter of Mac sounded in the silence of the room, which back a distorted echo, almost sinister.  
"In short, Claire," the detective continued, cheerful, leaning forward in his chair, "Do you understand? It was a wedding in three! As a married couple, but three! They lived together, had sex together ... And thinking that he apparently had a completely normal life, indeed, according to who knew him, seemed almost like a Boy Scout. "  
Then, suddenly, his expression changed, becoming infinitely sweet.  
"So," he added after a moment "for us a thing like that could not happen, I would never accept to share you with anyone, we do not need these cheap tricks, we love us, we're not like all the other couples."  
He narrowed his eyes slightly and his voice became soft as velvet.  
"We are happy."

THE DAY AFTER

"Detective Taylor, but he never recall?" Said the curly-haired young and a bit disheveled lawyer when he finally reached the policeman who, at a quick pace, was leaving his office after listening to Stella about the latest information about the gunshot residue found on the hands of the "second wife" of the victim, suspected of killing the "husband" of jealousy.  
"I've been busy" muttered Mac, hoping to quickly get rid of that he knew to be a nuisance.  
"Mr. Pratt says he is stalked by someone in your department ..." began the other, stopping in the middle of the corridor.  
"Mr. Pratt" Mac interrupted him, abrupt, mimicking the words of others "is the suspect in an investigation in progress, but I assure you that at the moment there's no one of my men assigned to its supervision."  
"So if my client has invented?" Urged the lawyer, who began to resent for the attitude of the policeman.  
"Your client is a rapist ..." replied the other coolly.  
They stared each other for a moment, piercing each other with their eyes.  
"This has turned into a personal revenge, right?" Continued the lawyer, defiantly.  
Mac didn't get the provocation and answered curtly: "It's not revenge, it's my job."  
"So I refresh your memory ..." continued the other, "You have tried to catch him twice, but he always made a hole in the water: in the first case the victim did not testify and in the second you did not have enough evidence."  
The detective replied with a grin: "he knows what is said the third time?".  
The man in suit and tie sighed, shocked his head and said, "I will present a formal complaint for unwarranted harassment and persecution."  
"Go ahead!" Was the reply.  
"Now have you finished?" Said the cop impatiently.  
"For now ..." said the lawyer, trying to sound threatening.  
"Well. And then you know out of the way! "said Mac.  
Without looking back, the lieutenant moved away.

***

Mac parked the car under the house, got out, closed the door with a key and looked at the sky, the sun had slipped behind the horizon while he was stuck in the traffic of rush hour and now the cool evening air, a light wind that carried the sounds of the city, caressed his face.  
In the last few minutes it fell a slight shower of rain : the atmosphere was damp and heavy, and around all the streetlights trembled iridescent mist and deserted sidewalks here and there gleamed.  
Exhausted, he sighed.  
What does he care about the rain, the fatigue, that criminal DJ Pratt went still free ride despite having brutally raped two women? What mattered the whole city?  
The important thing was to be at home, finally.

***

"Well, Claire ..." continued Mac buttoning his pajama top, sitting on the bed "The victim and his wife were married for a year and, when the sex between them has become routine, it is added Laura: they even did a second Wedding. "  
He got up and crossed the room to reach the window and pull the curtains for the night.  
"It's a strange girl, Laura ..." he added, thoughtfully, " think that this morning, when I said that we were aware of the fact that five years ago had shot her boyfriend, she was infuriated me so much that she even slapped me in the middle the street, in front of Stella. "  
"No, do not worry honey," he continued, putting his hand to his left cheek, "she doesn't hurt me, and, indeed, the fact that he has succumbed to my provocation has allowed us to take her to Central with accusation of assaulting a policeman, so we could take samples to test if there were or not traces of gunpowder on her hands. But according to Stella it was only a secondary transfer, maybe she was not her to shoot. "  
He sat back on the bed and slowly he slid under the sheets.  
He turned off the light, closed his eyes and folded his hands behind his head, while the muscles, sore from the long day's work, began to relax.  
"You know," he said, after a few minutes of reflection "at the bottom i do not think that woman is the killer, she seemed shocked by the death of" husband "and I think that she really loved him and that she has agreed to launch into a ménage à trois rather than lose it. "  
"It's amazing what you can bear for love: she was dreamed that like this would run! It was a real madness and I'm sure she realized it was, but, as they say, sometimes you need to give space, inside himself, to some madness to continue to live ... ".

***

"Aiden?" Mac Taylor's voice rang in the office still empty at that hour of the morning.  
"No, you do not disturb me at all, indeed. I'm glad to hear you, how are you? "The detective continued, holding the phone between shoulder and ear for a moment while he was removing his jacket and he sat behind the desk.  
After a few seconds, replied: "No, no news on the case of DJ Pratt ... his lawyer came to me because that criminal complains of being harassed by someone of my own, but I told him that it is not so. "  
Then, after thinking a moment, he added more seriously: "Aiden, tell me this is none of your business in this story! I exhort you, be careful and don't do stupid things! That's a dangerous guy and you're not anymore a cop, if you get me in trouble I can't protect you ".  
He listened for a few seconds assurances of the former colleague, then said goodbye to her not before he had promised to her that, if there were developments, she would have been informed.  
Closed the conversation, put down the phone and put his hands on the table, his lips pressed into a inexpressive line.  
He snorted: Aiden Burn was one of his regrets.  
A very capable woman, a good investigator.  
But impulsive and impatient, she had taken too much to heart the story of one of the victim of DJ Pratt, she undertaking a personal challenge with this man. To capture him had become an obsession for her, just to frame him, she had gone up to tamper the evidence.  
Then Aiden had changed his mind, of course, but the trouble had been done: his behavior was too severe, she had jeopardized the credibility of the laboratory and, as it had been difficult, he was forced to fire her.  
That obsession had cost her career.  
Sure, also at him burning the fact to be not able to beat a serial rapist in jail, but he knew that it was necessary to follow the rules.  
Fortunately, it seemed that she had understood his reasons and did not take care of it; months earlier she said she was studying to get licensed as a private investigator and he hoped with all his heart that his former colleague was able to turn the page, putting her life on track. And that, above all, do not put you in trouble again because of that bastard DJ Pratt.

***

Part Two

"The killer was not Laura, as we thought at first, but Elle, his lawful wife," said Mac after having swallowed a bite of grilled steak he had prepared for dinner "See Claire, she told us to have done it for hate and jealousy. In practice, she was always the second: every time her husband making love first with Laura and she felt out of place, she had realized that she was become an inconvenience, a stranger in her own house. "  
He smiled, put down his fork beside his plate, and reached for his glass.  
"She didn't leave him because she loved him," he continued.  
He took a sip, swallowed the wine and began thoughtfully.  
"She loved him enough to kill him ... out of anger, after he had laughed in her face and told her she was acting like a fool, that her fears were unfounded and that she has to pass it ."  
"And now is passed" he concluded bitterly.  
"But I don't want you feel sad with these stories!" He resumed, after a few minutes of silence during which he had finished his steak.  
"Rather, I have a surprise for you!" He said.  
He gets up from the table, left the dining room, grabbed his jacket that he had thrown on the sofa in the living room, reached into his pocket and pulled out two yellow sheets.  
With a satisfied and happy air, laid them on the white tablecloth, next to the bread basket.  
"Well, Claire," he said smiling "these are two tickets for Madama Butterfly at the Metropolitan: I know how much you love the opera and how many times you've prayed me to take you there! Remember when, five years ago, I bought two tickets like these ... you were so happy that finally I had decided to take you! Then I was retained to work for the double murder, I was late and we missed the show: you were so sweet to me to make me forgive the fact, but I know you were sorry. "  
"So," he continued, "because tomorrow is our anniversary and that is finally back in town the same company that five years ago we let slip through my fault, and just with the same Puccini opera that makes you mad, I could not do other that take again the tickets. "  
He looked at his watch on his wrist and he thought that tomorrow, at that time, will be comfortably seated on two chairs upholstered in velvet, fancy clothes, and he would spend the entire evening to see Claire, since few things on the face the earth were boring as the singing.  
"Would you do me the honor to accompany me?".  
It was not over. Tickets for the opera were not the only surprise that Mac had reserved for his wife: a couple of days before, in fact, he passed to address by chance of sparkling windows of Tiffany, in obedience to a secret impulse which he could not have to account, he entered. A pair of beautiful pearl earrings, simple but elegant, immediately attracted his attention and, sure that would be perfect for the delicate lobes of Claire, the detective bought them without thinking even for a moment and without contracting, Despite the price was clearly excessive. In short, he left the employee with sensation to have in front of a faithless with a guilty conscience and not rather a loving husband.  
Now, the elegant and turquoise little box with its beautiful turquoise white milk ribbon lay carefully hidden under the towel of Claire, standing next to a ticket on which he had written her name.  
True, there wasn't necessary to give her a present so expensive, or perhaps she would even reprimanded because he had spent much of his salary for those adorable jewels ... but who cared? Her smile, the smile of a moment, it hadn't no price.  
The ringing of the doorbell makes Mac Taylor jump; angry with anyone who dared to interrupt his dinner with Claire, the detective went muttering to open the door.  
Once opened a narrow, Aiden Burn, without waiting for the invite to join inside, rushed into the house so quickly that Mac – even though he had no desire to have to do with strangers around at that moment - could not that let her pass and close the door behind her.  
When she was inside, Mac noticed that the girl was upset; her hair matted, her clothes in disorder, and what is worse, a visible wound on the left cheekbone, which was bleeding profusely. She staggered slightly, while making its way into the apartment, so that Mac grabbed her arm in fear that she might feel sick and fall to the ground.  
"Aiden" said the policeman, surprised and worried "What happened to you? Have you been assaulted? ".  
She nodded.  
Then, while Mac helped her sit down, said: "It was Pratt: he realized that I was following him and I was lured into a trap making me believe that he intended to rape the woman whose apartment was coloring these days ... it has happened two blocks from here and I thought maybe you could ... ".  
"Bastard!" Muttered the detective, "You have done well to come here, now I take my jacket and I'll take you to the hospital."  
"I think he wanted to kill me" Aiden continued, brushing a strand of hair from her face smeared with blood, "He hit me and then he dragged me into a car stopped in an alley, but I fought and I bite with all my strength to arm ".  
"Do you remember the place?" Said Mac, grabbing a small notepad that he kept next to the phone "And the car, you are able to recognize the model or to see the license plates?".  
"Mac, you're always the best!" Aiden thought with a slight smile, "That's the instinct of the detective who comes out."  
She pondered for a moment and then replied, "Uhm ... yes, the place was a parking space nearby, an isolated place, in front of the house where Pratt is working these days and the car ..." she hesitated a moment, trying to recall the details of those dramatic moments.  
Meanwhile, the lieutenant had taken note of what she was saying, marking it on his notepad: the few data could be their secret weapon to finally trap DJ Pratt not only for rape, but also for attempted murder!  
"The car was a black Cadillac, but unfortunately I only remember the last two numbers of license plates," 75 ". You know Mac? I think the bastard had decided to kill me there ... "she added at the end, still in shock.  
Mac looked up at her and realized what was pale and suffering, although she tried with all her forces to show courage, it was evident that the meeting with Pratt had deeply marked her.  
"Wait," said Mac, taking a step toward her, "You're bleeding a lot, do not move, I go into the kitchen to get some ice to put on the wound ...".

***

Aiden Burn finally began to relax: the adrenaline of the attack of that criminal left in circle melted now with tiredness. She could breathe a sigh of relief: she was safe now, and Mac would help her.  
He did well to turn to him; if there was a person able to beating Pratt in jail that was Mac Taylor!  
While waiting for the lieutenant return, the girl did not resist the curiosity to poke the nose in the apartment.  
That place was surrounded, in fact, a sort of halo of mystery: none of the servants of his former team and, more generally, anyone who worked at the Department, there had never set foot in that tragic September morning in 2001, when life of all citizens of New York had been irreparably shattered.  
Some thought that Mac Taylor had made of the house where he lived with his wife Claire, the happiest years a kind of shrine dedicated to the memory of the dead, in which strangers were not admitted.  
Others, however, noting that the lieutenant was reserved - sometimes to excess - about his feelings and his personal life, simply believed that he had resigned to his mourning and he did not love to talk about anyone, not share it, not calling the painful moments memory of his past.  
Sure, he had told her to don't move ... but what was wrong to have a look around? Anyway, she would not touch anything.  
He got up slowly and walked to the dining room, from which came a warm light and flickering.  
When he stepped into the room, what she saw left her breathless: a round table covered with an elegant canvas blanket of damask linen of ivory color, a bouquet of fresh peonies in the center, silver cutlery and porcelain plates (filled with something she, in the gloom, could not recognize) shining in the quivering light of two candles.  
But the thing that upset that the board was impeccable, which had every appearance of being prepared for a romantic dinner with ribbons, it was set for two.  
She went, thunderstruck: it was possible that Mac had a guest for dinner? And, in that case, why he didn't say her anything? Maybe he had a relationship and did not want to make it public ...  
Sure, thought the girl, by someone like him she would have expected this thing. And however, something was wrong, the instinct told her: there was nobody at home above them, she was sure of that, and if the mysterious person who Mac had an appointment had not arrived yet, for what purpose already turn on the candles and let the food in the dishes getting cold earlier?  
In prey of a strange feeling that was beginning to become thin anxiety, Aiden went to the table continuing to scrutinize the details, until she noticed something colorful prominent from just under the angle of a starched napkin: she put the hand and pulled out a small box turquoise that, like almost every woman on the planet, she immediately recognized.  
Tiffany?  
The matter was becoming increasingly strange.  
Taking the case, she had moved the towel to reveal the presence of a small marble bag: she read the name written and surprise turned into pure astonishment, mixed with something that resembled existing fear.  
Claire?  
"My God," she murmured, holding in her hands that little piece of paper revealing.  
In a flash, everything became clear: Mac, the rational, rigorous Mac Taylor was mad with pain. The death of his wife had broken her soul in a much more deeply than none of his friends could ever imagine.  
His polished steel mind had failed to carry the weight of pain and gave up: he can't stand still living without Claire, he had removed his loss.  
Claire Conrad Taylor was not dead, for her husband.  
He continued to live in his brain fogged, living his heart broken as he had lived the house years before.  
It was clear: Mac, alone in the world, no one at his side, he needed to go forward to stage the tragic farce. Every day, every night. For five long years.  
His madness does not hurt anyone, really, but it was indispensable for him survive to cultivate inside himself and understood that it - was the only thing that can make bearable his unhappy life.  
Ex policeman felt his heart squeeze in a vise of compassion for the desperate loneliness of that good man, honest, that fate had stricken so hard.  
Yet, she also understood to have something to do, life of too many people depended on the judgment of Taylor Mac, and as loved him and felt sorry for him, she realized that he needed help. He had to take care , finding someone to help him get back in touch with reality.  
"Aiden!" the severe voice of the Mac made her suddenly jump.  
"Damn!" He continued, furious as she had never seen before, "What are you doing here? I told you don't move! "  
He took two steps toward her, his face pale, his hands outstretched and a look into his eyes unreadable.  
Aiden knew that she was facing an upset man, perhaps not able to control himself, but she continued to trust him again ...  
Come on! He was Mac Taylor , she thought: he was her friend, they had worked together for years and a little voice inside told her he could never hurt her.  
"I-I'm sorry," replied the girl, laying on the table was the envelope that was still in her hand "I did not want to be intrusive, I'm sorry."  
"But ...".  
She walked and put her hand on his arm, shook her head, her eyes wet with tears of emotion.  
"Mac," she said, looking him in the face "I saw the gift and the ticket ... I understood everything ... My God, how is it possible?".

Part Three

The man paled even more, he looked down on the floor and said nothing.  
"Do not worry," she said "It'll be okay, we'll find someone who will help you, all the pain will vanish. And also Claire finally will vanish. "  
What happened next was very rapid, unexpected and shocking to Aiden Burn and left just enough time to understand that evening had committed an unpardonable mistake, from which there was no turning back. And maybe that would cost her life.  
Mac, in fact, he shouted: "No!".  
It was a shout low, hoarse, like an animal in a cage, that to the girl instantly froze the blood in her veins; and the desperate scream of a man fighting to survive, to defend his world from who threaten to destroy it.  
A fraction of second later, he hit her with all his strength on the forehead, just where DJ Pratt already had almost broken the skull, tearing a strangled scream of pain.  
He threw her on the floor and with his weight immobilized her and rushed again versus her: Aiden was young and trained, but he was much stronger and, above all, he was blinded by anger and fear. The girl whined, mad of terror, now knew that, if she did not defend herself, he would kill her.  
She raised her hands to defend herself, but Mac, with blind and deaf fury, he caught her wrist so hard that Aiden heard the sound of her left ulna that was broken, while him with other hand shut up her mouth to prevent her screaming for that terrible pain.  
The kick which fractured two ribs cut off the breath in the throat, her mouth filled with blood and a black veil lowered relentless in her eyes.  
In stunning, she heard only wheezing of Mac bent over her and a burning sensation in the chest, which gave her no respite; She tried to breathe but her breath would not come. She had the impression of being thrown out of her mind and always in the wind.  
Then, while inexplicably the pain was relieved, floated and, instead of proceeding, she felt herself slipping back. She opened her eyes with enormous effort: Mac was standing in front of her, but the sight was already confused and she can't distinguish his features and his expression.  
She tried to move, get up, but she could not.  
Before being able to articulate any thought, the darkness enveloped her and it was only the body, illuminated by the flickering light of candles now almost consumed, a murdered girl, curled up on the floor of an elegant bourgeois dining room.

Mac Taylor, still bent over the body of Aiden, bangs the eyelids and swallowed empty mechanically passed his tongue over dry lips and in doing so felt the salty taste of blood that stained them. Looking at his hands, he realized that they were smeared with red; blood squirted mixed with the brain matter soiled his face and shirt, once immaculate.  
While the breath came back little by little regular and his upset mind recovered lucidity, he finally understood what had just happened. What he had done.  
He looked around his violence was such that from the poor girl's body, the blood was forming a stain wide on the floor, was splashed on walls, furniture, even on the ceiling.  
In his confused brain, the shock of what he had done mixed with an agonizing sense of guilt: Aiden was his friend, she had come looking for help … and instead he became a killer, such as those whose daily hunted for years. In fact, even worse, worse than D.J. Pratt, worse than all the others had become a monster.  
So, killing was something so easy?  
He felt that the blood ran in his veins hectic pace, while the dark fog that had clouded his brain for a few determinants minutes was dissipating. It was not the first time that he killed somebody: in the past he had tried the terrifying experience of taking the life of another man ... but in those cases was been different, very different. It happened when he was young Marine that fought in the campaign in Lebanon and, more recently, during a police action to arrest a suspect, protect a civilian or a member of his team or himself.  
Here, instead, he had killed with his bare hands a undefended woman, injured, in difficulty, with the sole purpose of saving himself, his work and his life.  
He wished to think, but he was not unable to do and, indeed, soon became convinced that he had not really need to get lost cause to the ruminations of his upset mind, because every gesture, every movement, every step that conducted him to the crime was dictated by necessity.  
Just so, seemed incontrovertibly clear now: he had no choice, had acted in the only way possible.  
Suddenly he was assaulted by terror: if someone had heard? If they could be able to go up to him? Perhaps one of the neighbors had seen Aiden coming into his home and, as soon as heard of his death, his colleagues would immediately put two and two.  
No, he could not allow.  
He was not ready to renounce his life, with all that it involved.  
The first thing to do was get rid of the body and clean up everything: he had seen so many crime scenes that nobody better than him knew how to hide clues, hiding evidence, and sidetrack a murder investigation.  
Already, he had analyzed dozens of crime scenes, hundreds, but never would have thought that his dining room would become one of them.  
He removed from the sofa the cloth that covered it, being careful to avoid looking her in the face, he wrapped Aiden's body, then took her on his arms, crossing the apartment and put her gently in the bath, so that the blood that continued to get out of her would not end up on the floor and could subsequently be cleaned easier.  
Now, he had to take care of the clues: two hours of tight work were necessary to remove the bloodstains and Mac had to use all his skill as an investigator to flush out also the traces smaller and hidden. The ability of observation as usually was useful to find a guilty man, now he was using to save another guilty: himself.  
When he finished he was exhausted and wet: he looked around, considering, having spent anywhere sodium hypochlorite (1), Aiden's DNA had become irremediably degraded, so that even if someone had thought to spend the luminol in that room, discovering halos invisible to the naked eye that it was not able to delete all, would never have been able to say with certainty that the girl had been killed there.  
Careful avoiding to leave traces behind, went to the bathroom, he undressed and placed his clothes smeared with blood in a plastic bag: it would be released later, with calm.  
He took a shower and while he soaped almost with anger, rubbing the skin and hair as much hurting himself as if, by removing the blood could slide away together with reddish water the pain and the sense of guilty, suddenly understood what was the only possible solution to save himself and, together, to repair at least a little of the bad things he had done, to give somehow justice to Aiden.

He Closed the body in one of the large Claire's suitcases, who still kept on top of the wardrobe, it was simple; more complicated and dangerous was, instead, carry it up to his car and putting it into the hood.  
In a city like New York he doesn't result even so hard, despite the hour, take a can of fuel, almost impossible to trace.  
Following the instructions that he had received from Aiden, he recognize the place where Pratt had attacked her and, kept in mind the description of the car in which he had pushed her, he found also the black Cadillac. When wearing white latex gloves, he tried to open the door, he noticed that had been forced with a Slim Jim (2), as well as the ignition switch: then it was so, he thought, DJ Pratt had to have stolen that car to kill Aiden away from curious eyes.  
For Mac Taylor was terrible open the suitcase and, looking around with his heart in the throat in fear to be surprised by someone, pulling out the body and laying it on the front seat.  
He opened a little the windows, so as to let through enough air to supply the combustion inside the vehicle, but not so much to burn high the flames, catching the attention of people before the fire finished his work of destruction.  
Finally, the most atrocious part.  
The touch that would trap Prat leaving him without any possibility of salvation: the gloved hands of the detectives opened the jaws of the corpse - luckily, he consider, it was not yet arrived the full rigor mortis – and, forcing both from the top to the bottom , he closed again on the armrest of the passenger seat, in such way to leave an indentation that anyone was not present there with him at that time certainly would have taken a bite inflicted by Aiden while she was still alive.  
He got up, scattered all gasoline on the body and seats and with a match set the fire.  
As he goes up into the car and put in motion, distinctly heard the crackling of the flames and saw the first reddish glow reflected on the sidewalks shiny of rain on the windows of other parked cars.  
That would be his tribute to Aiden Burn.  
He remembered a case where they had worked together six years ago. A woman was robbed and murdered while she was returning home after work, they had a suspect, but his alibi stood, there were no witnesses and the investigation was at a standstill. So Aiden had begun to harass that guy following and provoking him, until he had surrendered and attached her , with accusation of assault a police officer arrest him was easy and, once in the Central, they found that the man had a visible wound on the forearm, later proved compatible with the teeth of the victim. So the young detective was able to trap the guilty years before, and same, she would be able to arrest DJ Pratt now.  
When the corpse had been discovered, in fact, for his team would be very easy to reconnect the trace on the armrest of the car, with the bite that Aiden gave him during their struggle, therefore, the most logical conclusion would be deduce that the girl had been killed inside the car by Pratt, according to the plan from him designed but later a unrealized because of the girl's reaction.  
Then, he thought how pull out at the right time the story of six years before, making believe that Aiden wanted, in point of death, leaving a sign that would allow them to catch the murderess.

Epilogue

THE DAY AFTER

Before opening the door, Mac Taylor throw another look over the window of the stairs, the sun had set an hour or nearly and reached the sweet moment when the chaotic day is already end, while the wild night is not yet begun. The blacks skyscrapers silhouetted against the sky and everything appeared to be obscured on earth, while the air seemed covered by a sad, glittering splendor.  
The time he preferred.  
But that night the detective had raised his face up with completely different expression printed on his pale and vexed face, lowered his eyes, marked by a deep, ineffable sadness, on the floor and put the key in the lock.  
The hinges of the door opened and immediately closed again uttered a slight squeak.  
Mac put his keys in his pocket, he did not take off his jacket, he did not put gun and badge as usual: only, he leaned back against the door, he closed eyes and pale lips tightened in to a grimace of pain, too exhausted and desperate to take any further action.  
He was silent a few seconds.  
"Claire?" he called then, without changing position.  
"Claire?" He repeated.  
He sighed sadly.  
"My God, Claire," he said, finally incredulous "Today happened a terrible thing ... Do you remember Aiden Burn?".

The end

Notes: (1) sodium hypochlorite bleach is a common component of all of us have at home, (2) the Slim Jim is a thin strip of metal (usually steel) to about 60 cm long and about 2 -4 cm wide, initially marketed under that name by HPC Inc., a manufacturer and supplier specializing in burglary tools. It is used to unlock the doors of automobiles without the use of a key or latch (source: Wikipedia).

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